


Pastime

by JenCforCarolina



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Destiny 2, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 15:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenCforCarolina/pseuds/JenCforCarolina
Summary: Destiny 2 stuff.Testing Hawthorne’s voice. It’s not very distinct, but I’m getting there.





	Pastime

The farm has been filling up. Hawthorne is proud.

It’s bustling now, with the Vanguard rallying more Guardians, with communications active and transmat links up, the tent city growing beyond the landing field. She’d had to wrestle that area back from the Guardians today, for shipments of scavenged supplies. They’d turned the place into a rudimentary football field, crafted goalposts from scrap and rigged tripwires and flares to go off when goals were scored. Not only was it a hazard, with the nearest Cabal base already within too many miles for Suraya to feel completely comfortable, but it was in the way of important things. Like landing the stockpiles the Guardians were retrieving from the Fallen for them. 

She’s trying not to be frustrated, they were pulling long days in the wild and could use the break, but she wished they had pastimes that did not get in the way.

The Guardians were now clustering by the dock, somehow enjoying sitting out on the moldy cushions of the old decks. There’s a guitar in the hands of one (Traveler’s cleft where do they find these things? He did not have that a few days ago.) He’s quite good to be honest, but the melody is soft and mournful, and paired with the descending dusk it doesn’t do much for Suraya’s mood. Doesn’t seem to aid anyone else either, a few of the normies going about duties nearby begin giving sidelong glances of discomfort. 

No one is supposed to be the law here, but if someone has to step in as liaison and keep the peace, Suraya figures it’s got to be her. “Hold down the fort for me, Louis,” she says, and squares her shoulders, prepares to head over there.

“Oi!” Someone, a Hunter, beats her to it. He stands up from one circle over and shouts. “Stop being so darkness-damned depressing mate!”

Well she wouldn’t have been that direct, Suraya thinks. But she figures it will get the job done.

The man with the guitar finishes the chord with a little flourish, it’s obviously not the end of the piece but he ends it as though it was his idea. She thinks the commotion over then, but the Warlock beside him begins bobbing her head and stomping her heels on the wooden deck, rapid time. A couple Guardians join her, two others begin to clap to a different but synchronized rhythm. The guitarist tests out a few chords, then holds up a hand for anticipation, and brings it down to begin a louder, faster, rowdier riff. The first Warlock adds her voice, not words but toned shout pitched just right to harmonize with the strings.

The Hunter whoops and begins to dance. 

“Oh! Shindig!” Cayde crows, launching himself from his posture of practiced disinterest and hopping from his roost to the ground, making a beeline for the crowd of Towerfolk that are gathering. Many are joining in now, clustering in groups and moving in time.

Suraya regards the growing noise with a scowl. “Well that’s not much better.” She grumbles, moves to approach. It’s Ikora, on the next balcony over, that holds up a hand.

“Let them.” She implores gently. “See what comes of it.”

“A whole lot of ruckus.” Suraya complains, but sees the refugees perking up, poking their heads from their work. Tess is leaning out from her tent, tapping a toe. A Titaness beckons to a lady in a mud-stained skirt, invites her to dance. Laughs gaily at the hesitance and moves to join her, takes a hand and leads her along. They’re all doing that, to an extent. The crowd of Guardians is becoming just a crowd of people. People moving and laughing and mingling. 

“There is a time and a place for such revelry.” Ikora comments. “And it may not seem like it, but now _is_ that time.”

“I see that.” Suraya relents, leans on a rotting railing post. “Giving me ideas for clan mixers actually.”

“If there is one thing most Guardians know, it’s how to enjoy themselves when they have the time.” Ikora taps a loose fist on Zavala’s shoulder. He huffs at her but has a lightness to his step when he heads down the stairs, pauses by Amanda whose putting away her tools and wiping her hands on her pants. They walk together to join the fringes of people watching the dancing. 

“Take an evening Hawthorne.” The Warlock Vanguard suggests. “Appreciate the simple things.”

“I’ll watch from here, thanks. I like a little range on my encounters.” It draws a chuckle from Ikora. “This what it was like in that Tower?”

She sighs, weary but affectionate. “All the time.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Indeed.”

Ikora nods to her, takes her leave, moving away from the commotion, probably looking for quiet. She still watches the gaiety with a smile as she passes, on her way to Tyra Karn’s abode. Suraya chews a lip and considers. Tower might not have been too bad.


End file.
